Two Sides of Wicked
by Phantomstar07
Summary: Erik and Elphie meet, both searching for their lost loves. WickedPhantom crossover, eventual EE pairing. With Drac2000 references. strong PG13 rating for ch. 15. Complete.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**A/N: I have read The Phantom of the Opera, Phantom, and Wicked. I have seen Phantom onstage and I own the soundtracks to both Phantom and Wicked. Therefore, as I haven't seen Wicked yet, Elphaba's side of the story is based off the soundtrack, what I've heard through her voice. However, a few bits from the book may be thrown in as well.**

**Two Sides of Wicked**

_**Prologue**_

The great and terrifying Phantom of the Opera now sat hunched in a wing-backed throne overlooking the lake. A liquor bottle had smashed to pieces on the stone floor beside him not two minutes earlier, but he didn't care. Through the haze created by an alcohol-induced stupor, his brain processed one thing:

_She is gone…_

_She chose him…_

_She is gone…_

_But she will return…_

_She is gone…_

_I will bring her back._

xxx

Elphaba stared stonily out of the rain-pelted window, her cloak close about her shoulders. Tears would no longer come. She refused to believe he was dead. Elphaba turned away from the window, back to an enormous leather-bound book sprawled open on a desk. Denial is the first step, she reminded herself. The winds howled against the glass as she hissed a chant:

_Eleka nahmen nahmen atum atum eleka nahmen…_

_Eleka nahmen nahmen atum atum eleka nahmen…_

"I will find you, Fiyero!"

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**A/N: If anyone who has seen Wicked is reading this and has any comments whatsoever, please tell me. I try to find all the information I can, but there is a certain limit. Ideas, questions, comments… leave a review.**

**Phantomfreak07**

**PS: I love Idina Menzel and Gerry Butler, so that's who these characters will be based on. (just a little FYI)**


	2. Unlikely Meeting

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter I: Unlikely Meeting**

Erik swept his cloak on and headed for the Rue Scribe entrance to his lair. He made his way through the darkening rain-slicked streets, remembering his hangover from two nights ago. He had sworn one thing to himself that night: He would get Christine back. Now he intended to make good on that promise. Whatever it took, he thought. Erik was concentrating so hard on his own musings that he didn't see the girl wrapped in a deep violet cloak until they were almost on top of each other. He stopped dead and she crashed right into him.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle," he said, recovering his breath. "Perhaps we must both watch where we're going next-"

But the words caught in his throat as he looked at her. Long dark hair flew wildly around her, and there were numerous tear streaks on her face. But this was overshadowed by the fact that her skin was unmistakably _green_.

"Yes, next time," she finished, and he realized she was looking at him with the same astonishment he must be regarding her with. She seemed to realize why he was staring and pulled the hood of her cloak up to obscure her face.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. She hurried around him down the street, but he called out.

"Wait!"

She turned slowly, and he sensed humiliation. "Yes, sir?"

"Why-"

Before he could get the question out, she marched up to him and threw back her hood. "You want to know why I'm green, is that it?"

He could only gape at her.

Elphie took this as a yes and continued indignantly, "Well, your guess is as good as mine, alright, I was born this way. I might ask why you wear that intriguing mask, though."

Erik mentally shook himself. "I… That wasn't… I just-"

"Would you remove it?" she interrupted. "What happened to you?"

Erik had only ever removed his mask for Christine, and she had recoiled into a corner. But he somehow sensed that this girl was quite the opposite. After all, she was green.

He felt his right hand reaching inexplicably for the fine white leather, and could only watch her expression as it fell away.

Elphaba glanced from the left, perfect side of the man's face, to the right: it was almost like two people in one, he was so horribly deformed. His cheek was sucked in and puckered, half his nose mangled and tugged back into the flesh, and his lower eyelid hung down to reveal the redness inside.

The shameful anticipation in his eyes made her take the hand that held his mask and raise it back to his face. He replaced the mask, and she pulled her hood up against the wind.

Erik spoke for the first time since the mask had left his features. "I was born this way, too."

She wiped the still-stinging tears from her cheeks and held out a hand. "I'm sorry, I've completely forgotten… My name's Elphaba."

He shook it. "Erik."

"What were you going to ask? You didn't ask me about being green, it was something else. That was very rude, I apologize."

"I was going to ask why you were crying."

"Oh…" she hesitated. "Well… I don't feel very comfortable discussing my life out here in the middle of the street-"

A drop of rain fell on her uncovered hand, and she jerked suddenly, wiping it off with her sleeve.

"Please, can we get inside somewhere? I'll tell you, but we have to go in before it rains again."

Erik thought her reaction to the rain slightly odd, but he didn't want to be caught in a storm either. "Follow me."

He led her down the Rue de Rivoli, to another side entrance of the opera house.

Elphie really didn't know where she was in the world anyway, so the opera seemed perfect to her. Until Erik started to lead her down.

"What is this place, that there are no towers?"

"It is an old theatre facility," he replied. "I live in the cellars."

She gave him a skeptical look in the half-light.

"It is well-furnished, I assure you." He beckoned her follow him and proceeded into the darkness.


	3. Similar Differences

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter II: Similar Differences**

"Fiyero became a revolutionary, and the talk was that he was murdered by the Wizard's soldiers," Elphie concluded.

Erik sorted through the layers of emotion in her eyes. "Why do you believe differently?"

She hesitated. "Because… because I love him."

Erik felt a connection with Elphaba that he had never felt with anyone. They were both outcasts of society. They both lived quite reclusively. They both refused to believe that those they loved were gone forever.

Elphie's love for Fiyero hit home.

Erik massaged his forehead with his fingertips. "My love was stolen from me," he said. "She chose a man's money over a man's heart."

Elphie nodded sympathetically.

"Perhaps we can make this – relationship – work."

Erik's head snapped up. "Relationship?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's what they call it when two people get to know each other, help each other… isn't it?"

He sighed. "I suppose."

Elphie shivered. "I can't believe you live on a _lake_."

Erik glanced out over the water. "What's wrong with it?"

"Oh… nothing." She looked at her hands. "I remember when we first met Fiyero… he came to class late and was almost butchered by a pair of magicked antlers." Elphie giggled. "I fell in love with him the moment I saw him… Blue diamonds were all over his face, like sparkling tattoos. I found out later that they followed a pattern down his chest as well…"

Erik raised an eyebrow and she blushed deep green, making him laugh.

"Christine has the most beautiful voice in the world," he began, and she looked up, interested. "I taught her to control it, and she became the most celebrated diva this theatre ever knew."

"You sing?" Elphie asked eagerly.

He gestured wordlessly through the door toward the enormous ivory-keyed organ and mahogany violin in his room.

"I love to sing!" she said, hopping up to examine the organ.

Now it was Erik's turn to be interested. "Would you like to?"

She watched him closely. "What should I sing?"

He shrugged. "Anything. Something about Fiyero, perhaps…"

Elphie closed her eyes and thought for a minute.

_Don't wish… don't start_

_Wishing only wounds the heart_

_I wasn't born for the rose and the pearl_

_There's a girl I know_

_He loves her so_

_I'm not that girl_

She looked up to find his head slightly bowed.

"That was before he fell in love with me," she explained. "He asked my friend Glinda to the dance. It was a little off-putting: Glinda had Fiyero, my sister Nessa went with a Munchkin boy named Boq, and I got a black hat. This hat, in fact," she said, drawing it out of her cloak. Erik thought the hat could use retirement: it looked like it had been to hell and back, battered as it was.

"Glinda gave it to me, that night at the dance," she sighed, turning the material around in her hands.

As interesting a combination of green and black was, Erik looked back at Elphie.

"How did you get here?"

Elphie paused in her evaluation of the old hat. "Well… I'm not really sure. I left Oz to look for Fiyero… I don't know how I got here."

Erik nodded. "Do you have any idea as to his whereabouts?"

Elphie wanted to laugh. "Not the slightest. I searched the entire western hemisphere though, so he must be here somewhere."

Erik blinked. "You searched the entire west? How?"

"I began in the middle of the United States, and worked my way up and down the continents from there." She eyed him. "I don't like how this is turning into twenty questions, so it's my turn. What will you sing for me?"

Erik was taken aback. "What?"

"You heard me. I sang for you, now it's your turn."

Erik shook his head ruefully.

_Angel of Music,_

_You denied me_

_Turning from true beauty_

_Angel of Music,_

_Do not shun me_

_Come to your strange Angel_

Elphie looked stunned. "That was amazing. You'd definitely give Fiyero a run for his money."

Erik nodded at the compliment. "Now, is there something we can do for each other?"

Elphie paused. "Well… This is going to sound stupid. When I ran into you, I felt this connection; like whatever needs to happen, we can do it… together."

She faltered as he turned away.

"Sorry, mademoiselle." His voice was suddenly brusque. "I was never one for teamwork. I do things alone."

That got Elphie fired up. "Well, I did too, but now… we need each other. Can't you see? We just need to figure out what we should do."

No reply.

"Didn't you ever have any friends?"

The question stung him. "My own mother was repulsed by me. There is only one woman in the world I would deem a 'friend', and she is long gone by now."

"Oh. Well, if you don't want help, could you please help me?"

He considered her for a moment. Regret danced in her eyes like he had never seen before.

"Oh, alright then. Perhaps there is some way we can… collaborate."


	4. Atheistic Existentialism

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter III: Atheistic Existentialism**

Erik had given Elphie the Louis-Philippe room to sleep in, but she was too restless to do anything of the sort. She paced back and forth so much that by the time she looked at the clock it was nearly midnight. Curious and inquisitive as always, Elphie decided to peek in on Erik.

She pressed a finger lightly to his closed door, bracing herself for the customary creak. However, the door swung silently open and she was able to slip inside without a sound. Unlike the Louis-Philippe room, lit with candles, Erik's room was pitch black. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness, and her first instinct was that she was in the wrong room. The organ had been built into the wall, and his violin lay on a chaise lounge near the door. Elphaba saw no bed of any sort.

There was, however, a seven-foot-long box in the center of the room. She wondered if this was simply a music or storage room; she didn't remember the box from when they were in here earlier.

She edged closer to it, wondering what could be inside. It wasn't very ornate, except for a silver border. Elphie deftly slid her fingers along the edges, trying to find a way to open it. Her fingernails found a seam and she wrenched the obsidian lid open.

What Elphie saw threw her into utter shock. Snug against a blood red satin lining was Erik's body.

Elphie didn't know how long she stood simply staring down. Finally her brain roused itself enough to check his pulse, but she still didn't want to move. Had he died in the night? And how did the coffin get here?

"Erik?" she whispered. "Erik, are you… dead?"

He didn't move.

Elphie looked his body over. If he was breathing, it definitely wasn't showing. She steeled herself to take his wrist and check for a pulse, knowing it would be cold whether he was dead or not.

Just as she grasped his hand, however, his eyes snapped open.

They glowed amber in the darkness, and she gasped, backing away.

He seemed to rise up out of the coffin like some undead spirit, coming toward her with an eerie slowness.

Elphie raised a hand against him, beginning a spell that lapsed into English.

"—the will of God will smite you—"

Erik reached out and covered her mouth with a smirk.

"Sorry dear," he breathed, "I'm an atheist."

Elphie screamed and bit down against his hand.

Erik spun away from her with a curse, snatched the mask, and turned back around.

She stood watching him in incredulous terror.

"You're alive?"

"Merde. I was hoping to be dead by now."

"I thought… the coffin… and you weren't breathing. How?"

He glanced back at it. "I know it's morbid, but that's what I always sleep in. And when I sleep, I barely breathe at all."

Elphie nodded as he turned to face her. "What were you doing in here?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."

They walked down to sit by the lake.

"So… what made you become an atheist?" Elphaba asked. "Or were you born that way too?"

Erik shook his head. "I was raised Catholic as a child, but I eventually realized there couldn't be a God in this world. If there is a God, why has he made me a genius, but driven people away so I have no way to show them? Why has he given me the greatest voice, but no one to sing to? Why has he given me hands that can build anything, but no one to hire me? When I was a child, I could sketch so many different types of buildings, bridges, anything, and have them labeled in seconds. I designed and built this opera house, years ago."

Elphie smiled. "Well, you sang to Christine, you sing to me. Your sketches of her are all over the walls. And you said you built this opera. I think that covers everything. What are you still looking for?"

He stared at her, hating the optimism in her eyes. "We've had this conversation before, and you're getting the same answer. I will not stop looking until I find Christine."

She met his cool gaze. "Determination. Always a good thing."

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you, then?"

Elphie shrugged. "My father was a minister, always preaching about the Unnamed God. I'm not sure what religion that translates into here. Anyway, I dropped out of it when I heard Fiyero had died. I didn't see any need for it if the one man I loved was gone."

Erik nodded, understanding. "So we're the same, in that respect. I've been driven further and further from God without Christine."

Elphie yawned. "As engaging as this conversation is, I think I'll be able to go to sleep now."

Erik chuckled. "You may. I usually stay awake for weeks at a time, and those few hours before you woke me up were all I needed."

Elphie shivered, gazing out at the lake. "How do you stay awake when it's so cold out here?"

He shrugged. "I don't question that part of myself."

She laughed. "Do you question any part of yourself?"

"Not really."

"Good night then."

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**A/N: I loved writing the beginning of this chapter – Erik rising up out of the coffin. Dracula 2000-esque. If you haven't seen it, do! I used the part when he comes up out of the water behind the news reporter. SQUEE**

**And the title comes from a line in Godspell (our school musical this year), from a guy named Jean-Paul Sartre. Love it!**

**You guys know the drill: Drop a review me happy more updates.**

**Phantomfreak07**


	5. Setting Off

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter IV: Setting Off**

Elphie woke the next morning under a heavy fleece blanket. She blinked.

_This wasn't here when I went to sleep…_

Shrugging it off, she detected the faint sounds of Erik's organ. She slipped through the door and walked up behind him, losing herself in his music. He ended the piece a minute later and pivoted on the bench to see her properly.

"You're awake, I see."

She nodded, rolling her eyes.

He smiled ruefully, turning back to the sheets of music.

"And I saw that as well. Did you have a good sleep?"

"Yes… I was wondering, how did that fleece blanket make its way to my bed in the night?"

He stiffened. "You looked chilled."

She edged him over so she had room to sit. "Did you stay up all night?"

"I said I would, didn't I?"

"Well, yes, but I thought –"

"If there is one thing I do that is honorable, Mademoiselle Elphaba, it is that I keep my word. Always."

Elphie tossed her hair. "I see. In that case, you are bound to assist me in finding Fiyero."

His gaze snapped to her. "I didn't… fine." There was no point in arguing with the girl; she had proven to be a match for him.

Erik whirled from the bench and swept his cloak over his shoulders in a fluid motion that left Elphie staring in admiration.

She sprang from the seat as well and hurried back into the Louis-Philippe room. She emerged with her own dark cloak whipping around her arms, but he had beaten her. Erik stood waiting at the gondola, fedora on, fixing her with a stare only the Opera Ghost could.

Elphie cursed under her breath for having been so slow, then her eyes widened as it clicked. "I need to make one thing clear: I will not go _anywhere_ in that rickety little craft."

Erik's lip curled in a mock sneer. "Don't you trust me?"

She snorted. "Hardly. Is the passage we used last night blocked?"

"No."

"Then we're using it."

Erik's eyes flashed as he followed her stiffly down the passage. She dared defy _him_?

Elphaba strode ahead, not particularly caring about Erik's reaction.

_Not water…_

_Anything but water…_

She heard his cloak swirl in the cool air and spun around. "If you think you can creep up on me like that, you're wrong."

Erik's breath caught in his throat. No one had ever heard him approach from behind before now. He glanced down and quickly whipped the lasso out of sight behind his back, feigning innocence.

"Perhaps you are simply being paranoid, mademoiselle," he suggested as he swept past, stowing the lasso back in his cloak for another time.

They found the morning overcast upon reaching the Rue de Rivoli. Erik hailed a cab and Elphie leapt back to avoid the splash of water on the street.

She grabbed his arm as he attempted to climb in.

"Where are we going?" she asked, eyeing the horses warily.

Erik fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Darling, we're going to find your brother, don't you remember?"

Elphie frowned. "No, we're looking for… your student," she finished, catching on.

The cab driver glanced over his shoulder at the passengers. Thankfully he didn't notice Elphie's skin; her hair had fallen forward as she clambered inside and obscured his view.

Erik settled on the seat across from her, stretching his long legs. "Château de Chagny, _rapidement_," he barked, and the carriage set off immediately.

Elphie gave him a puzzled expression, and he crossed to sit beside her so the driver wouldn't hear.

"The chateau is where Christine lives," he explained.

Elphie wanted to slap him. "What about Fiyero? You promised to help me!" After a beat, she added, "And he's not my brother; you know that. I didn't spend the afternoon pouring out my past to you for nothing."

Erik leaned close and whispered in her ear, "Yes, but we must present a respectable face to the outside world first."

She still glowered at him, and he threw up his hands.

"Fine. Christine doesn't live with him, alright? No one knows where she is."

Elphaba raised an eyebrow. "They why are we going to this… residence, if you know she's not there?"

Erik adjusted his mask slightly. "Because even though its occupant is my greatest adversary, he knows Christine's whereabouts."

Leaning back with a gloating smile, he added, "His servants keep tabs on all the strangers in the city, and… on occasion, he sends them after me."

"Why?"

He snorted impatiently. "To have me brought to him, to get 'information about Christine', but torture me and kill me. Obviously, he hasn't succeeded."

He moved back to his original seat, and they both stared out the windows.

Elphie broke the tense silence. "So, you're walking into a trap?"

Erik's eyes flickered. "You could say that."

"For me… Thank you."

He said nothing.

The carriage lurched unexpectedly to a halt outside the mansion, and Elphie was thrown into Erik's chest as he stood. Pulling herself up, she caught the glimmer in his eyes.

"Feeling forward today, are we?" he purred, straightening his cravat.

"Definitely not."

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**A/N: This was fun to write, especially the ending. I've read enough romance novels in the past year to want to put something in about their carriage ride.  I also liked the idea of Erik stepping out of his comfort zone (a little OC, I must admit) for Elphie's benefit.**

**Phantomfreak07**


	6. Chapter Five

**Ha! Tricked ya! Now you've gotta read the A/N!**

**Anyway…**

**Okay, that's IT! I refuse to publish any more chapters for this story (and believe me, I've got 2 more) until you people stop giving me hits and NO FRIGGIN' REVIEWS! That's cheap, really cheap. I'd like _some_ feedback, at least. What's wrong with you people?**

**A very annoyed**

**Phantomfreak07**


	7. In the Lion's Den

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter V – In the Lion's Den**

Elphaba had pulled her hood up to cover her face, and deep violet gloves that matched her cloak enveloped her hands. Erik could actually feel pity rising in him – she was worse off than he himself.

She caught him watching her. "What?"

"Nothing. Let's go." He held out his elbow invitingly, and she grasped it at first. After three paces she let go.

"Sorry, that just doesn't feel right."

"My thoughts exactly."

They continued side by side up the walkway to the door, and Erik raised the brass knocker, which was shaped like a rearing lion.

It was answered almost immediately. "How may I assist—"

The servant broke off, staring at Erik in astonishment. From farther inside, a voice called, "Well, show them in."

The man's eyes brightened with malicious glee. "My pleasure, sir. Please, come in," he said to Erik and Elphaba.

They stepped over the threshold and he reached out a hand. "May I take your cloak, mademoiselle?"

Elphie pulled the fabric closer, her head lowered. "No thank you."

"But surely—"

Erik gripped his shoulder in a death hold. "She said _no_."

The servant backed off, his eyes watering. "Of… course. Just down this hall, monsieur." He indicated a long hallway to their right and returned to his post at the door.

Erik set off down the corridor at once, Elphie hurrying to keep up. "It's good to know he keeps his servants informed of his attempts," he said lightly, referring to their as yet unseen host.

Elphie glanced around at the walls; they were pocketed by tiny alcoves, which concealed many biblical statuettes. "I don't like the feel of this place. It's too…"

"Catholic," he supplied.

He reached for the door handle that led to the Vicomte's library, but stepped back to let Elphie consider them. "He really likes the lion motif, doesn't he?" she observed.

"It lets him intimidate you before he sees you, so you're already at a disadvantage."

Elphie scoffed. "Nice try."

Erik wrenched the doors open and stepped into the room with Elphaba at his side.

Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny, looked up from his desk and couldn't believe his eyes. Standing not five feet away was the Phantom of the Opera himself.

"Well, well, well… I never expected you to come here, of all places. And of your own free will. Impressive," he sneered as Erik glowered at him. Elphie laid a hand on his elbow, and he exhaled slowly. Raoul turned his gaze to her.

"Did he force you to accompany him, mademoiselle?" he shot Erik a look of purest loathing. "He has that unfortunate habit."

"Actually sir, it was my decision to come," Elphie lowered her hood and simply waited for his reaction. It was quite predictable, in her opinion.

"Merde!" he cried, flinching as if she'd burned him. Elphie continued to stare daggers at him. He regained his composure and turned back to Erik. "A wonderful hoax, old friend, really inspired—"

"Hoax?" Erik interrupted. "There is no hoax."

"But… but how can she be-" Raoul sputtered.

"And last time I checked," Erik added in an icy tone, "we aren't friends, old or new."

"But besides that…" Raoul was still grappling with the fact that the girl before him was an impossible shade of green.

"Can you not get past this one aspect of my life?" Elphie burst out. "Erik has!"

Raoul looked stunned. "Yes, only because he's like you."

He didn't register what happened next until five seconds after the fact. A sharp sting set into his face and he realized Elphaba had slapped him.

"How dare you," she hissed, pure venom in her voice.

Erik touched her shoulder in a reminder of self-restraint, smirking at the Vicomte.

"I learned not to test her," he said mildly. "But shall we get to business?"

"Indeed." Raoul was massaging his cheek, but his eyes gleamed. "Tristan! We've finally got him!"

Erik glanced over his shoulder and saw the servant racing down the passage. In one quick movement, he stepped back and slammed the door shut.

"Not this time, _mon ami_," he hissed, sneering at Raoul.

Elphie threw him backward onto the desk in a lightning-fast move.

"Where is Fiyero?" she demanded.

Raoul could barely breathe under her surprisingly powerful grip.

"Fiyero…" he echoed vaguely. "Ah yes, Fiyero. Bit of a gypsy, no?" He managed a grin. "I'll tell you. But… how much do you value your companion's life?"

"What?" she reeled for a moment, giving him time to turn the tables. In a moment, Elphie was held in his own strangling grasp.

"What are you on about, de Chagny?" Erik snarled.

"Oh, it's simple really," said the Vicomte, taking a dagger from his belt. "I can see she wants to know where this Fiyero is, and I'll tell her. If you give yourself up."


	8. Defying Gravity

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter VI – Defying Gravity**

Erik stared at the Vicomte. Rage like he'd never known before was coursing through his veins, threatening to dismantle him from the inside out.

"And I thought you could sink no lower," he ground out.

"We all make that assumption of one another sometimes," said Raoul, lightly tracing the blade up the side of Elphaba's neck. It drew a thin line of blood, and Erik could barely control himself.

Elphie saw the weakness in his eyes. "Erik, no! You can't do it! Please… you've done so much for me already."

Raoul's eyes flickered in comprehension. "So," he spat, "your concern for Christine has evaporated? I always knew you would never care for her as I do."

Erik was shaking with fury. With a deft flick of his wrist, the Punjab lasso appeared, coiled in his hand like a cobra poised to strike.

Raoul pressed the dagger harder against Elphaba's throat and she gasped in pain. "Drop it, Erik!" he shouted.

Elphie looked at him imploringly, willing him to listen. Erik nodded, defeat plain in his eyes, and threw the lasso to the floor. He had never felt so powerless.

"How does it feel?" Raoul taunted. "How does it feel to know that your enemy holds all the cards and there's nothing you can do? Don't answer; I've felt it too. That last night in your dungeon, I've never felt more helpless in my life. But you were weak then, and you're weak now."

Erik shot a glance at Elphaba and caught the glitter in her eyes. He turned his burning gaze on Raoul again as her hand drifted smoothly to her pocket.

"You're wrong," he growled. "I'm stronger than ever, but you're just as weak."

An enormous cloud of black smoke engulfed the room at his last words. He reached down and snatched the lasso, and was tempted to break the Vicomte's neck here and now. Elphie tugged at his cloak before the plan was set in motion, and they fled the room.

They escaped down the hall and shoved past Tristan, making straight for the door. A gunshot sounded from behind, and Erik wheeled to see the servant aiming a pistol at his back.

The lasso was no use; it wouldn't be long enough to achieve its purpose. He took out a silver dagger in its place. Throwing it tomahawk-style, he put it through the man's chest before any of them could blink.

He and Elphaba raced through the door as Tristan slumped against the wall, blood flowing freely from the wound.

Erik led her around to the side of the house, obstructed by shrubbery.

"Now we need to get out of here," he growled. "The police will be swarming soon, so we need to spend the night somewhere besides my lair."

Elphie nodded, thinking. Suddenly she spun in a circle, her cloak swirling so quickly she almost looked like a tornado.

"What are you doing?" he asked, nonplussed.

She kept spinning, faster and faster until she was a dark blur, then came to a halt just as suddenly. Except now, she held a broomstick.

Erik snorted. "What, pray tell, are you going to do with that?"

Elphie grinned at him. "I call it defying gravity."

He watched as she sat sideways on the handle and rose into the air. "It flies?"

"Of course," she laughed, coming back down. "Now come on, let's get out of here!"

Erik swallowed, then mounted behind her.


	9. Child's Play

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter VII – Child's Play**

Erik had never felt so liberated in his life. Elphie's control of the broomstick made for quite an exhilarating ride. They had shot almost straight upward when they took leave of Raoul's chateau, and now they drifted lazily through the afternoon sky.

Erik was gazing out toward the sea when it finally hit him, and he nearly beat Elphie senseless.

"Are you mad?" he bellowed.

"Excuse me?" she shifted on the slender handle to look at him.

"What in Garnier's name are you doing, flying up in the sky on this thing! It's mid-afternoon!"

Elphie gasped. "Ohmygosh, I never thought of that. Hang on, we're going up!"

She angled the broom slightly upward and they shot into the clouds.

"What do you mean, you never thought of that?" he roared. "It's broad daylight, and people can see you!"

The wind blew her voice into his ears with deafening clarity. "In Oz, people are accustomed to me zooming around! I'm sorry I forgot for five seconds, everything's okay now!"

"Enough!" he bellowed. "Where are we going?"

"The opera!"

They landed a few minutes later on the roof.

"I don't believe you," he was still muttering. "And I said we shouldn't come back here, or did you miss that part?"

"Of course not," Elphie was shaking cloud moisture from her cloak. "But we have time to decide what to do, come on."

She disappeared inside and he followed.

"How big is this place?" Elphie's voice echoed down to the stage floor.

"Seven floors each above and below stage level."

"How many does it hold?"

"Two thousand."

She took off across the catwalks, and Erik had to admire her fearlessness. He followed, climbing old ropes and flying through the dusty workshop area. Ragged sheets still hung over the banisters like forgotten ghosts, shivering as he passed.

They landed on the stage simultaneously, and a loud stomp echoed into the ceiling. Erik straightened from the catlike crouch, enveloped in his cloak like a shadow.

Suddenly, the door to the center aisle burst open.

"He's here, somewhere!" It was Raoul's voice. "Find him! Alive!"

Elphie darted into the shadows stage right, Erik stage left.

He caught her eye backstage, and they returned swiftly and silently to the roof.

"Well, so much for that plan," Elphie murmured, wandering to stand next to Apollo's Lyre. She looked out over the streets at the Eiffel Tower. "What's in that tower?"

Erik walked over next to her. "It's simply a monument. The icon of Paris." A note of jealousy rumbled in his voice. "It should have been this opera for which Paris is known, but with that piece of metal towering over the rest, it is hardly fit anymore."

Elphie nodded sympathetically. "Well, I suppose it's still an icon to people like dancers or actors, right?"

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat.

"Right," said Elphie assertively. She turned on her heel and went back to the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to see what's happening." Without further ado, she closed the door again.

Erik growled and went after her again. The wench thought she owned the place; like she could simply come and go as she pleased? The idea was laughable. He knew the building better than anyone could claim.

He found Elphaba leaning over the railing with an evil grin on her face.

"They think you're down in the cellars, but they're all too afraid to go," she explained as he looked down.

Undeniably, Raoul seemed to be having a hard time getting any men to volunteer.

"He's nothing but a man!" he shouted, and the shadowed pair had to struggle to control their laughter.

"A man, indeed," Elphie snickered, turning away. An idea lit her features and she turned to Erik, but he was gone. Confused, she looked over the edge again and noticed a moving shadow along the wall behind Raoul. However, Erik's voice echoed from the chandelier above.

"I've warned you, Monsieur le Vicomte…"

Raoul spun. "Up there!" he pointed wildly at the pathway around the crystal-and-gold structure.

One man clambered noisily up the steps to the door, but as soon as he set foot on the passage Erik's voice was barely a whisper, from the orchestra pit.

"Do you think this wise, boy? After all, you know my record…"

Raoul lunged into the pit himself. "Erik!" he screamed. "I'll destroy you if it's the last thing I…"

Elphie shook with suppressed mirth as Erik reappeared on her other side.

The Vicomte leapt from the pit, eyes flashing about for any sign of the masked terror. "Box Five!" he cried suddenly. "If he's anywhere in here, it's there!"

Several armed policemen burst into the box, and it was too perfect an opportunity for Erik to miss.

"DID I NOT INSTRUCT THAT BOX FIVE WAS TO BE KEPT EMPTY?"

His voice thundered from the walls themselves, driving the police from the box. Thankfully their screaming drowned out Elphaba's laughter, because she exploded when they all started running.

"Erik, that was amazing," she choked, wiping tears from her eyes. "I've never laughed so much!"

He shrugged. "_Merci,_ but it was simply child's play."

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**A/N: Thanks sooo much to everyone who has reviewed, it's a real self-esteem booster. Gives motivation, too. I love references of any kind, and I couldn't think of any from Drac2000, so this one had some Pirates in it. lol enjoy!**


	10. Paris at Midnight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter VIII – Paris at Midnight**

Erik and Elphaba laughed long after the police and Raoul had rushed out.

"I've been waiting for another opportunity to give him a scare," said Erik. "Especially since he's been chasing after me lately."

Elphie grinned. "Where did you learn to do that?"

The mood grew tense as he shifted uncomfortably.

"I… was part of a gypsy freak show when I was young. There were magicians of all sorts, and I learned every trick there was to know. All the other children were afraid of me, even though quite a few were older than I was."

Elphie raised an eyebrow. "Odd."

He shrugged. "Not really. I held as much power in that camp as the wisest medicine woman, and just as much knowledge."

She glanced at the back door from their vantage point in the rafters. "Do you think he'll come back?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "Probably. He knows I'm still here, so make that definitely."

"What'll we do when he comes again?"

"Go live in la Tour Eiffel, to satisfy your craving for a tower home," he said dryly.

She gave him a look.

"I have no sense of humor, mademoiselle. And if I do, it is more twisted than anyone's in the world."

"So I see."

Elphaba silently marveled at the architecture of the building. All the Gothic designs, with angels and demons clashing in the enormous sculpture, and beautiful women statues along the staircase were crafted with such pristine perfection.

"You said Garnier built this opera?"

Erik nodded in assent.

"How long did it take?"

"Nine years."

"You know everything about it! You make it sound like you own the place!"

He stared at her. "That's because I do. I designed everything, alongside Garnier himself. He never knew about the passageways I put in, to make certain areas more accessible for myself."

He remembered Elphie's preoccupation with water, and decided to touch on the lake.

"He was so upset when we dug into the lake, he almost quit there. But I convinced him to keep building around it, and use the lake to get around below."

She shivered involuntarily.

"What is so wrong with a lake, mademoiselle?" he asked casually.

"Oh… nothing's wrong with it, nothing at all," she said quickly.

"But something bothers you about it. I remember a few days ago, you couldn't wait to get that raindrop off your hand. And when you couldn't sleep, one of the first things you said was 'I can't believe you live on a lake'. So what's the problem with it?"

Elphie shuddered harder this time.

"I don't know!" she burst out. "But whenever it touches me, it burns. Like nothing I've ever felt before. Ever since I was a child, I've hated water. It's like some innate sense is telling me to stay away from it. Even tears sting."

Erik's brow furrowed.

"So whenever it rains, you must be completely covered?"

"Yes."

He looked at her. "What a sad way to live your life."

She turned fierce in an instant. "I don't need pity from anyone, especially someone like you!"

She stalked away, but trying to hide was useless. Erik let her go for five minutes' head start, then caught up to her in the old costume department.

"I don't take pity either," he said softly. "However, one can always use compassion. Come with me."

She let him guide her to the roof again, where it had started to snow lightly. They gazed out over the blackened city at the Eiffel Tower, its many lights extinguishing the daytime ugliness of the building.

Elphie's breath caught in her throat. "It's beautiful at night."

"Everything is beautiful at night," he responded. "In light your eyes see only the truth, and that isn't necessarily what you're looking for. Darkness makes the entire world more attractive."

She leaned against his shoulder, smiling slightly. "Have you ever thought of taking up poetry?"

"That's what music is, my dear. Everything in life can be translated into verse, and music is simply notes behind the lines."

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**A/N: Sorry for the short one, you guys, but I wasn't exactly sure how fast I wanted this to go. I think we're gonna find Fiyero before she discovers her feelings for Erik.**


	11. In the Streets of Paris

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter IX – In the Streets of Paris**

Elphie woke to a harsh breeze on her face. She blinked, hair whipping wildly around her face, and realized that she and Erik had fallen asleep at the base of Apollo's Lyre.

"Eri-"

She caught herself before rousing him completely. Maybe she should take the opportunity to explore on her own; Erik was still a little preoccupied with finding Christine, and if she left now she might find Fiyero easier.

Elphie strode to the edge of the roof and looked straight down. It was barely dawn and hardly anyone was out wandering the cobblestone yet. Perfect.

She shot off the roof on her broom, straight toward the Arc de Triomphe. Soaring low beneath it, she scanned the small shops and businesses lining the streets. Markets, brothels, jewelers, cafés... if only there were a dance hall. Fiyero had loved dancing. Elphie spiraled up to perch on the pinnacle of the Eiffel Tower. She had no doubt that she could see everything from here. If only she had an inkling of what a French dancing area looked like.

"Fiyero…" she moaned into the wind. "I know you're here somewhere. I can feel it."

Elphie's unfocused gaze trained on a man two streets over. Even at this height and distance she could see that he wore a green uniform and cap. Her heart took flight as she swooped into the air again, trailing him like a hawk.

_Fiyero..._

She hardly recognized him, he marched so stiffly. Elphie touched down and tucked the broom away in her cloak, hurrying silently after him. She pulled her hood up as an extra precaution, and noticed that he carried a shoulder bag. It ignited memories of their days at Shiz that she had completely forgotten.

He turned sharply and she ducked into an alley. She wanted to execute this perfectly, so as to be sure that it was Fiyero.

He spun on his heel and strode off again, and she rushed after him. Elphie knocked into the elbow supporting his bag and heard it drop behind her, papers scattering in the wind.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry," she said, hurrying to fetch the pages.

"It's no problem," he muttered, gathering the documents on the ground. After a minute he straightened, trying to peer into the shadows of her hood. "Thank you."

His voice. It was definitely Fiyero. She could see the diamonds across his face more clearly now.

Elphie had to struggle to maintain her composure. "Could you help me with something?"

He hesitated, eyeing her skeptically. "I suppose, I'm in rather a hurry, miss-"

Her tone changed to a scoff. "Fiyero, please. You've never been 'in a hurry' in your life, why start now?"

He gaped at her. "Who are you?"

"An old friend."

He pushed back her hood. "Elphie!"

They stood looking at one another for a moment, then suddenly everything dissolved and they were holding each other as if the world would end.

When their kiss finally broke, he stepped back to look at her. "What are you doing here?"

She gazed at him lovingly. "I've been looking for you, ever since…"

He cut her off, kissing her again. "I've missed you so much, you have no idea…"

She smiled. "Everyone said you were dead, but I knew it wasn't so. No one knew what happened to you, so they all assumed you'd been killed by the Wizard's soldiers."

He flashed a warm grin. "I wouldn't allow myself the indignity of being killed by _his_ people. After all that help we gave you with the Animals? Of course not."

He glanced over her shoulder and his expression turned cloudy. "Let's keep moving."

She obliged and they linked arms, strolling down the cobblestone.

After several paces, his face hadn't relaxed.

"What's wrong?"

"There's someone following us. I'll handle it; he looks dangerous."

He came to an abrupt halt, unsheathing a silver sword at his hip as he pivoted.

"Is there something I can do for you, sir?"

It was Erik.

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at Elphaba. "Yes there is, Monsieur _Fiyero_."

Fiyero's eyes flickered uneasily, and his grip on the sword tightened.

Erik's gaze switched back to Elphie. "You may as well have woken me up for all the trouble it was."

She understood in a flash. "You've been following me since I left."

He smiled slightly. "Did you think anything less?"

Fiyero looked from Erik to Elphaba. "Elphie, who is this?" He glared at Erik, taking in the half mask.

"He's… a friend, Fiyero. He was helping me look for you."

"I see." His shoulders relaxed a mite, but the sword was still raised.

Elphie saw Erik's hand in his cloak and realized that he probably held the weapon more treacherous than a sword. Lightning-fast like a serpent, it would fly soon if she didn't do something.

"Erik, this is Fiyero. Fiyero, Erik."

They both gave the tiniest of nods, still glowering at each other.

"I didn't realize he would be so like…" Erik stopped himself before uttering another word. The last thing he wanted right now was the knowledge that Elphie would loathe him forever if he kept going.

"He's not what you think," she protested, knowing full well that he had almost mentioned Raoul. "Fiyero was the most courageous of everyone in Oz."

Erik smirked. "Now _that's_ something I didn't expect. He's raised a sword against me, and I've done nothing."

"We don't need your sarcasm, either," she added pointedly. "Now," she looked around at the surrounding buildings, "shall we return to the opera? People are starting to rise, and there could be-"

"Of course." Without further ado, Erik turned on his heel and strode away into the shadows as an unexpected wave of… _jealousy_ hit him. It was almost as surprising as the fact that Elphie had found Fiyero. The only other time Erik had felt jealousy was two years ago, the day he first learnt of Raoul's presence in Christine's life. That influence had threatened him far more than anything else ever had.

Elphie, meanwhile, was walking on air. She had finally encountered Fiyero after months of fruitless searching. His arm around her shoulders was like a dream; she soaked in his comforting presence like a little green sponge.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he said quietly.

"_I need help believing you're with me right now,"_ she sang, the words coming back to her like yesterday.

Ahead of them, Erik was torn. He was glad that Elphie had achieved her goal, but Christine was still out there somewhere…

**A/N: Oooh, I think Erik's getting jealous… lol. :)**


	12. Waiting

**Ok, really now… the first time was expected, the second was a little annoying. But now… now I demand at least one review before I publish anything else. One review per chapter. Not from everybody, just one review. One person needs to review, that's IT! IS THAT SO HARD?**

**Hopefully not, seeing as how my awesome cameo chapters just upped me to 60 reviews on my other story. Guys, I love this story, I really do, and all I want is someone to hit and LEAVE A REVIEW. But I'm not saying please. Past that, sorry. Passed that a long, long time ago. **

**I swear I'll update when you review. I've already got ideas, another chapter going, just REVIEW.**

**deep breath ok, I'm done. I hope the above got through to some of you. If you're gonna take the time to read, send me a review. EVEN IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, SEND ME A REVIEW AND SAY SO.**

**Phantomfreak07**


	13. What Is This Feeling?

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**A/N: This chapter has a bit from the stage production, dealing with the chandelier. Aside from that, thanks so much to Galasriniel, I was starting to think I'd never hear from you again. And Snape's Opera Rose, I'm glad you guys are friends. :) **

**Chapter X – What is This Feeling?**

Erik was seething as they returned to the opera. The problem was, he didn't even know why he was so angry. Elphaba had found Fiyero, and now she was happy. He should be glad for her; they certainly seemed right for each other.

Elphie was content with the world, a rare occurrence. She rested her head on Fiyero's shoulder as they walked.

"I thought I'd never find you," she sighed.

"Technically speaking, I'm in hiding, so you shouldn't have found me in the first place," he chuckled.

"In which case," Erik countered from a few paces ahead, "you shouldn't go around saying it for the world to hear."

Fiyero's reply was cut short by a heavily made-up woman in the doorway of a dimly lit building.

"Sir, if you wish, I could take that whore off your hands."

All three of them stiffened, and Fiyero regarded the woman with an icy gaze.

"What did you say?"

She peered around his shoulder at Elphie. "If you wish to dispose of her after the evening—"

"How dare you!" Elphie spat. "To say that I am a common whore!"

The woman looked taken aback. "Forgive me, I merely thought, with a cloak that dirty—"

"You know what I hate?" Elphie hissed, now trying to pull away from Fiyero's restraining hand, "I hate people who judge on first impressions, instead of taking a closer look or getting to know someone."

The woman bowed respectfully and backed into the whorehouse as Fiyero hauled Elphie away.

Erik strode into the opera in a barely controlled rage. He had stormed off a few minutes before the encounter ended, to stop himself from strangling the woman on the spot. Paris hadn't grown any kinder since his last venture out. It was one thing for people to look down on him; he acknowledged his… eccentricities (more aptly put, madness). But it was something else entirely for them to judge Elphaba. Thank God the woman hadn't seen her face.

He paced through the maze of tunnels, thinking aloud. "Well, now that she's found His Highness, I can go back to my life and get Christine… yes… but I'll have to find a way to tell them that they… _he_… is not welcome here when I leave…"

Erik breathed in the cool air, savoring the total quiet. Not for long, however.

"People are so empty-headed they'll believe anything!" Fiyero's angry tone cut the silence, echoing along the stone walls.

Erik snatched a quill from his cluttered desk and wrote hurriedly:

_Fondest farewell to Miss Elphaba,_

_I am leaving to seek out Christine and I am glad you found what you were looking for. However, Monsieur Fiyero is not welcome here, and it would be in your best interest to take him away with you; lest a disaster beyond your imaginations will occur. I will return when you least expect me._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G._

Their voices grew louder as Erik moved to his throne. When performing this trick in the past, he had always left his mask behind. This time, he would leave the note. Covering himself entirely in the cloak, he remained perfectly still for a moment, allowing the material to settle over his frame. He touched a small gear in the chair's arm and the seat dropped out, depositing him to the pitch-black room below. Overhead, he could hear Elphie's voice:

"Erik? Oh…"

He knew she had found the cloak. Sure enough, there was a whisper of material as she whipped it away, and an audible gasp.

"Fiyero!"

"What is it, Elphie?"

"He's gone!"

"What? Where?"

"I… I thought he was here, and, well…"

"Don't worry, we'll find him. I promise."

Not if Erik had anything to do with it. As much as he didn't want to scare Elphie, he needed to know that both of them were gone. He threw his voice into the walls again and roared, like on the night of the chandelier crash:

"**GO!"**

There were pounding footsteps, and silence…

Erik smiled grimly and swept down the passage. Worked every time.

At that moment, it didn't matter to him whether he saw Elphie again. On the outside, anyway.

However, something stirred deeper within his soul…


	14. Heartbreak

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**Chapter XI – Heartbreak**

Elphie snatched her hat and fled the catacombs. She and Fiyero stopped at a café a few blocks away from the opera and threw themselves onto a bench.

"He really is a true magician," she said, Erik's last disappearing act still fresh in her mind.

Fiyero shrugged, glancing vaguely at passersby.

"He was somewhere in the vicinity, though," he replied. "Close enough to hear us."

It was Elphie's turn to shrug as she slipped her hand in his.

"But we can get on with our life now," she insisted. "I only went to him because I needed help finding you."

_That's not all_, something nagged at the back of her mind. _You felt a connection, you said so yourself._

Fiyero shifted uncomfortably as they started walking again.

"About that, I… never mind." He wouldn't look at her, but she smiled gently.

"I've missed you so much, and there must be a lot that's happened… Do you want to talk about it?"

Fiyero sighed. He turned toward her as if he were bracing himself against a stampede.

"Elphie, I – we – can't go on like this. I have to go back to Oz."

She laughed. "You honestly thought I would want to stay here? We're leaving tomorrow!"

His face remained troubled.

"It's not like that. I can't go on like this with you."

She stopped walking. "What do you mean?"

"Before I left, that… that whole affair. It was just a fling, Elphie. We weren't meant for each other."

Elphie could only gape at him. "Two years… _two years_ and you call it a 'fling'?"

He looked away. "You have to understand, I _did_ love you. For awhile. But… I've always loved Glinda."

Elphie stiffened and slowly backed away.

"How…' her eyes welled up with tears. "How could you? I gave you everything."

She stopped, her eyes on the ground. She looked at him for a last time, a tear line shining on her left cheek.

"I love you."

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Erik stood stock-still outside the de Chagny gates, concocting a plan. He would _not_ make the same mistake that almost got Elphaba killed. Mentally judging distance and height, he vaulted over the iron pikes. His cloak blew out behind him, making him look like an overgrown (yet still extremely thin) bat. Landing softly on the manicured grass, he sprang straight up into a tree and made his way through the branches toward an upper window. If Christine were here, she'd be in this room. It was where Raoul housed her when she came to "visit". Erik glanced down and made note of the four armed guards stationed on either side of the enormous front door. Security had tightened up since he was last here.

He slipped through the window like a ghost and ducked behind a writing desk. There were voices just beyond the door; Raoul and Christine.

"It's wonderful to finally see you again, Raoul."

"Likewise, but you must change before we go out for lunch."

She giggled as she slipped through the door, closing it firmly behind her.

Erik rose. "Christine…"

It was barely a whisper, but she spun around.

Her eyes grew huge and she screamed.

Erik grimaced as he ducked behind the desk again and Raoul burst into the room.

"What is it, Christine? What's wrong?"

"He's here," she whispered shakily. "There, behind my desk…"

Erik winced, cursing himself inside his head. Christine was the only thing standing between him and the full wrath of the Vicomte. And now there was nowhere to run.

"Léon! Armand! Rapidement!"

Erik rose again as two servants rushed into the room. He raised his hands in surrender, but Raoul's lip curled.

"You actually believe I'd let you go free before justice is served?" he hissed.

Erik glared at him as the men grabbed him roughly by the arms.

"Christine," he growled softly.

Raoul struck him across the face, knocking the mask away. "You are not worthy to speak the name of an angel like her."

Armand twisted Erik's right arm behind his back.

"Sir, what shall we do?"

Before the Vicomte could respond, Erik spat in his face.

Christine gasped at the hatred she found in his eyes as he looked at her.

A melody from years ago rushed into her ears, a plea for life.

"Christine, I love you…"

Raoul sneered, his arm wrapped protectively around Christine's waist. "Yes, but does she still love you?"

He looked at her lovingly. "Well, Christine?"

She hesitated, then picked up Erik's fallen mask.

"We parted ways years ago, Erik," she said quietly.

"And now our paths cross again," he growled hoarsely.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "I can't go back to that life. I haven't sung since; I doubt I remember how."

Erik could only stare at her. This wasn't the Christine he remembered. How could she have changed so much?

"Tragic, isn't it?" Raoul's steely voice interrupted his thoughts. "The most terrifying man this city has ever known, to be killed at last, alone. Not love, not power, _nothing_."

Erik shot him a look of deepest loathing. "I'm never alone with music."

Raoul glanced at Léon, and he slammed a fist into Erik's chest.

"Music no more," the Vicomte hissed as Erik doubled over. "I'd be surprised if you could speak after that."

Erik snarled. "Kill me, then."

Raoul arched an eyebrow. "So, it really _doesn't_ take much to make you beg for death."

"There are worse things than death, de Chagny."

"Is that so?"

Erik stared at Christine.

"Heartbreak…"

Raoul smirked and cocked an ivory-handled pistol.

"Very well, then –-"

"No, Raoul!" Christine suddenly leapt up and snatched the gun from him. "Not like this."

Erik and Raoul both gaped at her.

"Would you force me to live without you?" Erik growled raggedly.

"No," she said. "I've forced myself to live without you. Go."

Armand shoved him roughly to the floor.

Christine tossed his mask to the ground and spun from the room, flanked by the servants.

"She will never be yours," Raoul snarled.

Erik straightened and produced a dagger, leaving no trace of Léon's assault.

"Very well, monsieur."

He flung the dagger into the far wall, leaving it quivering in the fine wood, and was gone in a whirling of his cloak.

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**A/N: C'mon, you guys know I'm partial to Erik. Of course his piece is dramatic. Well, Elphie's was, too. Anywayz, you know what to do. Click the little button, give me feedback, and I'll see what I can come up with for the next installment. **

**Phantomfreak07**


	15. Love and Hate

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Wicked.**

_**Remember: Keep your hand at the level of your eyes, and nothing matters but knowing nothing matters.**_

**A/N: Hey, I'm back early, and with an exceptionally difficult chapter! I know I said I'd publish after Easter, but I got everything done early! Anyway…**

**Strong PG-13 for attempted rape sequence, and bear in mind that I do NOT intend to make very much of a love scene. Making out is about all you'll get, so… dare I say it? imagine the rest, if you will.**

**Chapter XII – Love and Hate**

It was like a terrible vision of déjà-vu. Erik was once again crumpled in his throne, his mask lying on the flagged stone floor a few feet away, and a half-empty liquor bottle sloshing in his hands. His features had grown red from emotion and drink, and he shot off a number of colorful expletives as Christine's face swam in his brain yet again. She was gone for good, why wouldn't her face leave his thoughts?

After awhile, Erik slipped into a dream. Christine stood staring at him; it was the night of Don Juan Triumphant. He reached out to her and she shook her head, turning away. He called her name, but she didn't look back. She disappeared into a darkness even he couldn't see through. A scream erupted from behind him and he spun around, hoping she was coming back. Instead, he saw a man chasing another woman, and she was running towards him.

_Elphaba. _

She clung to his chest, frightened of the pursuing figure.

"Erik!" she cried.

Without a second thought he let fly the lasso around the pursuer's neck, bringing him down in one stroke.

It was Raoul.

"Erik!" Elphie cried again, her voice echoing in his mind.

Erik bolted from the throne like he'd been shocked. Had it been some sort of vision? He'd accepted that Christine was gone, but the other half… Erik shook himself. It wasn't his place to waltz in on Elphie. He didn't even know where she was, probably back in Oz by now…

Nevertheless, he was restless and jumpy from the dream. Cursing, Erik whipped his cloak over his shoulders and staggered toward the Rue Scribe entrance.

------

Elphaba braced herself against the wind blowing down the narrow street. She had been wandering aimlessly through the city since Fiyero had turned his back on her last night. Elphie blinked furiously as more tears welled up when his face filled her thoughts again. No matter how hard and long she cried, there always seemed to be more tears. Brushing them away as quickly as she could, Elphie pulled her hood up and stumbled into a small café.

The place was dimly lit and a half-finished bar stretched the length of the back wall. Elphie struggled to one of the bar stools, edging past two intoxicated men who were loudly discussing their love lives. She signaled the barman, who immediately slid a tall glass of some frothy red liquid toward her.

"I once bedded three girls in a night," one drunk slurred proudly.

"That's nothing," said another. "I did five at the same time, you have no idea of the pleasure—"

Elphie spat her drink all over the counter at this declaration and the men looked at her curiously.

"S'matter?" one guffawed. "Ya never enjoyed it before?"

Elphie turned slightly away so they wouldn't see her face and shook her head slowly.

"Well then, mon ami," said the larger of the two, "we may as well tell ye all about it so ye know what t'expect when ye fin'lly get a whore f'yerself."

He grabbed her shoulder and pulled her around to face them and her hood fell back.

The man immediately let go, but there was no shout of fear or alarm.

"_Etrange__…_" he muttered to his companion. "_As-tu vu une fille comme ça?"_

"Non," said the other. "What would it be like, I wonder? Should we test?"

A grin came over his face and Elphie pulled herself up to sit on the counter, as far away from him as she could get. But they were surprisingly quick for being large and drunk. The smaller scrambled onto the bar and caught her wrist as the other grabbed her around the waist.

All Elphie could think was that she could do nothing without the Grimmerie, and that was miles away in Oz. She was in too much shock to even scream as they carried her outside, mumbling to other customers that she was more intoxicated than they.

She was slammed into the ground as he dropped her.

"We're not gonna hurt ye, cherie," said one, tugging on her hair.

"Then leave me," she whispered hoarsely.

Desire filled a smile on his face. "_Ce n'est pas possible_, I'm afraid," he hissed.

Elphie reached to slap him, but he grabbed her wrist again. She screamed and his hand clamped over her mouth, and her teeth sliced through it. He released her and howled in pain as she swirled her cloak over her protectively. Elphie knew it wouldn't hold for long, but she had to do something to keep them away.

So caught up in thoughts of Fiyero was she that she failed to notice the uneasy quiet a moment later. A deep voice broke the silence, taut with emotion and edged with rage.

"Elphaba, you're afraid. Don't be."

She raised the cloak. Erik stood over her, eyes blazing at the two bodies on the ground, lasso coiled in his hand.

Elphie could only stare at him. Finally she found her voice.

"Where did you come from?"

He looked down at her, emotion still clear in his eyes.

"This is my city, I have as much right to wander its streets as any Parisian citizen."

She stood shakily, dusting herself off.

"Where is Fiyero?" he demanded. "Why are you alone?"

Elphie glared at him.

"I can take care of myself. I'm not a child!"

"_Au contraire_, it seems."

She sighed.

"He's… gone. How could I be so stupid? He still loves Glinda, he told me and left."

Erik snarled. "That lying son of a –"

"Erik, please!" she interrupted. "Why aren't you with Christine, then?"

It was Erik's turn to look ashamed.

"It's over between us… I should have seen it. She won't leave Raoul."

"That whore!" Elphie cried angrily.

Erik stared at her in amazement, and she returned his gaze.

"What?"

"You do not seem the type to use profanities, mademoiselle."

"This is an exception," she snorted. "How dare she! It's not enough to break your heart once, is it?"

"That's less than Fiyero," he replied. "You two were going on for a few years already, if I'm not mistaken."

Elphie walked over and stared moodily down at the two men. "But you came."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably. "I happened to be passing—"

She interrupted him with a wave of her hand. "Erik, you don't 'happen' to do anything."

He sighed. "Alright then, I heard you scream and came as fast as I could. Is that better?"

She turned around. "So, you really… care about me?"

His eyes flickered, the angry flames turning to something else.

"No, Elphie. I love you."

The fear in her eyes was overshadowed by something he couldn't place and Elphie threw herself into his arms, their lips colliding with a force beyond reckoning. It felt as if every emotion she had ever concealed from him came crashing through in that embrace. His tongue ran along her lips and she nipped it playfully. They broke apart and she smirked.

"I knew you felt something between us."

He growled and led her back into the bowels of the opera as quickly as he could. Darkness shrouded them like a familiar blanket and her voice echoed in the cavern.

"Erik, you have to admit it. I know you feel it, otherwise we wouldn't be here. I probably wouldn't be here."

He shushed her with another long kiss, his fingers tracing her jawline. They crashed on the bed in a whirl of black garments and scarlet sheets. As much as she didn't want to, Elphie fought his sensual attempts to seduce her, gripping his wrists in a vicelike hold.

"Admit it," she hissed. "You knew it, I know you did, so just say it already."

To her surprise, Erik raised himself from the bed and backed away from her, his eyes still blazing.

"Not until you say you love me."

She gazed at him and suddenly realized how afraid he was. He wouldn't fully commit until she made the same pledge he had.

An idea came to mind, and she grinned playfully at him. He stared at her, waiting. Elphie stripped down to a thin, chemise-like covering; the scarf Fiyero had given her. She had expanded it to be more than a simple scarf, and it was now the only thing between Erik and herself.

His breath came out in a low hiss. "Say it."

She looked at him serenely. "Erik, I love you. So much. I could burst with my love for you."

That was all he needed. Pinning her back on the bed, he gently removed the scarf, allowing it to whisper along her skin and making her writhe with need.

The last thing she heard before total bliss was,

"Everything I am is yours. And all you are is _mine_."

--------

Erik's mind swirled through a fantasy. Nothing had prepared him for Elphie, that was for certain. He wearily opened his eyes, surprised to find himself almost completely drained after last night. Elphaba herself was twisted in the crimson sheets, her head resting on his chest.

Erik smiled contentedly, stroking her hair. His now-warm touch awakened her and she looked up at him sleepily.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Elphie."

**A/N: Please review! **

**Phantomfreak07**


	16. A Sequel

**A Sequel…**

**To all my faithful reviewers:**

**I am in the process of writing a sequel for Two Sides of Wicked, since I loved writing that story and I know you all enjoyed reading it.) I love doing crossovers. Hope you'll continue to review like you have! Even if you don't like it, let me know! It should begin in a few days. Thanks much!**

**Phantomfreak07**


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